Derrick's Talk

[hazlogs]

[12/4/97]

Behind the Falls
Dug by a combination of the wearing down of stone by time and erosion, and the 
  shifting of rock from the water's weight, this cave behind the falls is 
  comfortably roomy. A gentle downward slope leads back from the entrance, 
  perhaps ten or so yards; the cave is about five yards across at its widest, 
  and small juts of rock have created natural shelves and nooks in the walls. 
  Very little light pierces the dark recesses of the cave, hidden as it is by 
  the twists of stone and the flow of water, but one of the nooks along the 
  cave floor has been cleared out and, by its blackened and sooty appearance, 
  used as a fire pit.

Erik(#2989Pce)
This tall figure, six and a half feet at least, stands out in almost any 
  crowd. His build is skeletal, disturbingly thin and angular, with long arms 
  and legs.  His face is a horror, a living death's head with corpse-pallid 
  skin stretched drum-tight over too-obvious bone. A few wisps of dark hair 
  cling to a miserable existence on his otherwise bald scalp, and his eyes -- 
  brilliant green and raw with undisguised emotion -- gaze apprehensively out 
  from deep-set, misaligned sockets. A number of small, regular scars encircle 
  the left. His cheeks are sunken and hollow, and rather than a nose he has 
  only a pair of gaping holes, a feature which only emphasizes the skull-like 
  appearance.
He's muffled as thoroughly as possible in a couple of blankets. His right arm 
  ends in a stump at the elbow, and a large patch of scar tissue covers his 
  left forearm. His voice is startling, even freakish in its unearthly beauty 
  and purity of tone. It's colored with a faintly Irish lilt, attractive and 
  compelling. 

Derrick climbs into the cave from the stone niche outside.
Derrick has arrived.
Derrick scrapes his way in, saying a quiet, "Yo," to announce himself.

All is quiet. Near the dying fire, Eamon sleeps. One can assume that there are 
  other Fianna in the area, too - Megan and Shea at least. Erik's currently a 
  homid-sized lump under a blanket. Wonder how he can breathe.

Derrick pauses, and looks for Megan. Finding her asleep, he sits down next to 
  her and listens to people breathing.

Erik stirs a little under his blankets, but doesn't poke his head out.

Something finally clicks in Derrick's mind, and he whoops, briefly, before 
  slapping his hand over his mouth. Amazingly, he doesn't wake Megan up, but 
  he still keeps his hand over his mouth.

The lump under Erik's blanket stirs again and then grows, going quickly past a 
  Crinos-sized lump and down to a wolf-sized one. A discolored canine nose 
  pokes out from under the blankets.

Derrick, grinning to beat the band, says, quietly, "Welcome back."

Sings-in-Shadow snuffs the air for a few breaths and then utters a brief 
  lupine noise of acknowledgement, laced with a whimper. The nose withdraws, 
  leaving a little hump at the edge of the blanket.

Derrick asks, "There... anything I can do to help?"

The lump under the blanket moves a little, and then a few words in Garou, 
  muffled. ~I'm sorry.~

Derrick, although Erik can't, obviuosly, see him, looks slightly stunned at 
  this. "Why the hell," he says, compassion and a slight tinge of the usual 
  anger he gets at career omegas in his voice, "Would /you/ need to be sorry?"

The nose appears again, poking out from under the blanket. Quietly, so as not 
  to wake the others, he answers, ~My fault.~

Derrick says, patiently, compassion still in his voice, "Why, though?"

Sings-in-Shadow whines softly. ~Everything.~

Derrick says, sharply, "Oh, fuck that. Those Weaver crap things were no more 
  your fault than is the Wyrm going insane. Yeah, maybe, if we'd /all/ of us 
  been patrollin' more carefully, we'd've caught it quicker. But Jesus, Erik, 
  I mean, I know you like to lay blame on yourself and stuff, and I know the 
  other Fianna are perfectly happy to let you, but this is a bit excessive."

Sings-in-Shadow withdraws his nose again at the rebuke and mutters another 
  quiet, muffled whine. ~I'm sorry.~

Derrick sits there for a quiet moment. "What will it take," he asks, 
  conversationally, "To get you to stop apologizing to me?"

Sings-in-Shadow remains silent, his nose just hidden from view past that small 
  bump at the edge of the blankets.

Derrick scootches nearer. "I mean, I'm not blamin' Eamon, or," his jaw tenses, 
  "Dusty, neither. So why would I blame you?"

Sings-in-Shadow's answer comes out a bit garbled, even considering the 
  difficulties of speaking Garou in lupus form. ~Didn't kill it. My fault. 
  Didn't last.~

Derrick stops scootching closer. "Fuck that, too. You can't kill everything, 
  and you'll notice that none've US've done too damn well at killing 'em, 
  either. Face it, Erik, you're not going to be able to take all the blame for 
  this." He scootches a bit closer, tentatively.

There's a whining growl of a negative from under the blanket, the cringing 
  protest of an omega. ~No. Had it down. Couldn't kill. Couldn't... stupid. 
  Trespass. Couldn't make myself kill it.~

Derrick reaches down to, perhaps, scritch the metis, if said metis will let 
  him. "So? You didn't have a partner. We oughta've gotten together and made 
  up shifts with you, if we were bein' Guardians with you, which we were. We 
  know your strengths'n weaknesses, after all. You, you're good at thinkin' 
  about stuff, at bein' earnest, at singin'... An' not so good at killin'. And 
  we /knew/ that. So, face it, Sings in Shadow. You can't take all the damn 
  blame."

Sings-in-Shadow remains completely covered under the blanket, though the Fang 
  could probably guess where his head is and scritch through the thick cloth. 
  He whimpers again, softly, but makes no other reply.

Derrick scritches the cloth for a moment, and then mutters, "Well, that's 
  unrewarding." "Can I ask," he says, softly, "What it was like? I mean, do 
  you remember anythin'?"

Sings-in-Shadow stirs under the blanket. ~Yes. Remember.~

Derrick asks, "What... was it like?"

Sings-in-Shadow answers after a pause. ~It was... it was...~

Derrick waits patiently.

Sings-in-Shadow says, muffled, ~Cold. No. Not hot. It was... it was... no. No, 
  I don't _want_ to remember.~

Derrick says quietly, soothingly, even, "It's ok. You don't have to, if you're 
  not ready to. I was just... you know, offering. If you ever want to talk 
  about it."

Again that small, apologetic whine.

Derrick sighs. "Wish I'd been there to help."

Sings-in-Shadow remains quiet under the blankets.

Derrick continues his lone soliloquy. "Not just when you got stolen. But when 
  Dusty got stolen. You know? I mean, he don't deserve this. Not," he says, 
  looking down, "That you do either, but he's newer at this. And... less... 
  He's kinda more innocent. Him gettin' stolen, /that's/ my fault, an' 
  somethin' I'll carry from now on. But I also wish I'd been around when they 
  de-Weavered you, 'cause the Fianna, they're not 'zactly gentle about this 
  kinda shit. But, I mean, someone's still gotta Guard."

Sings-in-Shadow moves around a little under the blankets and pokes his nose 
  out again, but otherwise remains quiet.

Derrick looks down at the nose. "An' here you're sittin', depressed. Dunno how 
  to help that, either. Doin' real well, lately, aren't I?" He scootches to 
  lean against a wall, tiredly.

Sings-in-Shadow whines quietly, apologizing again.

"Erik? Promise me something?" The Fang sounds very tired.

Sings-in-Shadow makes a noise of inquiry.

Derrick grits his teeth. "Let's just assume you've apologized to me a billion 
  times, I've accepted, and you don't have to DO that part of communication 
  with me, ever again, ok?"

Sings-in-Shadow withdraws his nose rather than offend the Silver Fang with 
  more apologetic noises.

Derrick says, "Aw, geez," and bonks his head against the wall. "Ow," he says, 
  musingly, and then asks, "You eaten anything lately?"

Sings-in-Shadow hesitates, and then rumbles, ~No.~

Derrick rummages in his ever-present pack. "Well, I've got chocolate, a 
  sandwich, a loaf of bread..." He peers into it. "Sardines, too."

Sings-in-Shadow's nose reappears, followed by some of the pallid muzzle. The 
  nose twitches visibly, catching the scents from Derrick's pack.

Derrick opens up the sardines. "Have some turkey?"

Sings-in-Shadow seems to hesitate, and then emerges a bit more, revealing the 
  deep-socketed eyes, whites showing and a series of small scars circling one 
  of them. His ears, still covered, remain folded back, flattend, and one paw 
  - the left - can be seen. Turkey?

Derrick says, firmly, "Turkey." He hands the sandwich to Erik, blithely 
  managing not to wince at his appearance, and then says, "Have some more 
  that's not sandwiched."

Sings-in-Shadow cranes his head forward a little, sniffing at the sandwich 
  before taking it in his jaws. He pulls back a bit, drops it next to his paw, 
  and starts eating. He doesn't look up.

Derrick watches him, smiling faintly.

Sings-in-Shadow finishes the sandwich off fairly quickly, his manner remaining 
  furtive and eyes-downcast.

Derrick says "Y'want some chocolate? Or, f'r that matter, somethin' to drink?""

Sings-in-Shadow starts edging back again, but withdrawing back under the 
  blanket isn't nearly as easy when it's most of your head and foreleg that 
  you've pushed out as when it's just your nose. The blanket bunches up a 
  little.

Derrick reaches over and puts the blanket back over him. "You seem to want 
  it," he explains, as he starts eating the chocolate himself.

Sings-in-Shadow sighs, the sound morose, and settles down again, just his nose 
  visible.

Derrick leans back calmly, and sighs himself.

Sings-in-Shadow(#2989Pce)
Grotesquely thin and ugly, Sings-in-Shadow is a living spectre of lupine 
  death, standing three feet at the shoulder on three gangly, spindly legs, 
  the right foreleg ending in a stump at the elbow. Corpse-pallid skin is 
  stretched drum-tight over stringy muscle and too-obvious bone, the pale hide 
  bald but for a few thin, irregular patches of dull black fur. From a wolven 
  death's head gaze brilliant green eyes, apprehensive in their deep, 
  misaligned sockets; a number of small, regular scars encircle the left. 
  Discolored fangs are visible within the long muzzle, and an area of scar 
  tissue covers the beast's lower left foreleg.
Nothing should look like this and live, but there he is, moving with the 
  cringing hesitation of a career omega, hobbling slowly with the loss of the 
  one foreleg. 

Derrick continues licking his chocolate.

Sings-in-Shadow remains quiet under the blankets, just a wolf-shaped lump with 
  his nose sticking out.

Derrick says "Wan' some more bread?"

Sings-in-Shadow hesitates and then pushes the rest of his muzzle - no more - 
  out. ~Yes, rhya.~

Derrick, reflexively, says, "I'm not a... nevermind." He unties the bag, and 
  gets a bunch of it out. "Feel free."

Sings-in-Shadow takes the slices of bread between his jaws and eats them, 
  somewhat awkwardly, with lots of crumbs.

Derrick gets up to go fill his canteen.
Derrick sits back down again, and gets a book out. "Gonna keep y'company, till 
  I gotta go patrol, I figure. Sokay?"

Sings-in-Shadow cleans up the crumbs from the bread and lies down, half his 
  muzzle still visible under the blanket. ~Thank you,~ he says, subdued.

Derrick shrugs. "Welcome. I mean, you're a friend of mine, or at least an 
  acquaintance. Why not?"

Sings-in-Shadow says, ~I don't deserve it.~

Derrick rolls his eyes. "Oh, good, so you should starve to death and do no one 
  any good at all."

Sings-in-Shadow pulls his muzzle back under the blanket and becomes fully 
  hidden again. ~Do no bad, either.~

Derrick drawls, "Well, there's a philosophical question worth asking. If, 
  through inaction, you both fail to do good and fail to do bad, isn't the 
  failing to do good worse?"

Sings-in-Shadow replies, muffled, ~Burden.~

Derrick says "So're Esther. And Steven. And me, for that matter. C'mon, that's 
  a lame reason to wanna starve yourself. There's always other ways of 
  fightin' for good."

Sings-in-Shadow says, ~Heart of Fury can fight.~

Derrick nods. "And so c'n I. Esther can't, so much, anymore, though. Sepdet, 
  either. They're finding new ways of coping. Bet you can, too."

Sings-in-Shadow says, ~Will fail.~

Derrick snaps, "Of course you will, if you don't try."

Sings-in-Shadow has no reply to this, and remains silent.

Derrick says, "Look, man, I don't have this 'I'm a metis, and therefore evil' 
  stuff, but you know about my lung, right?"

Sings-in-Shadow remains silent.

Derrick says, "Was in charge of a scouting patrol, attacked instead of 
  scouting, three people died, my lung got destroyed, I have no stamina 
  anymore. Now then, now that you know the basics, can I talk more at you?"

Sings-in-Shadow's nose reappears. Maybe that means 'yes'.

Derrick rattled this off as if he no longer feels it, although the tension in 
  his shoulders belies his tone. "I coulda decided that everythin' I did was 
  worthless, that there wasn't any fuckin' point. Hell, for awhile there, I 
  did. I mean, you know, I'm a scouter, a long range scouter, a runner, 
  someone who needs to /go/, long distances, to breathe and keep breathing... 
  And I can't do any of that any more. I figure this out, I'm practically 
  suicidal myself. It also doesn't help that I... Well, I didn't kill 'em, but 
  I led two people, and my /packmate/," his voice cracks slightly on this, "To 
  their deaths. You, Erik. No one died in this. You're crippled in kinda the 
  same way I am - we can't do something that we loved, that's kinda... 
  integral to us. But we're both Garou, man, and we can both bounce back from 
  damn near anything."

Sings-in-Shadow whines, albeit quietly. ~I can't.~

Derrick says, one word distinct from the other, "Why. Not?"

Sings-in-Shadow's nose withdraws again. ~Can't.~

Derrick says, again. "Why not?"

Sings-in-Shadow doesn't reply.

Derrick says, more intensely, but in the same volume, "Why not?"

Sings-in-Shadow answers as though in pain. ~Fail again.~

Derrick balls the hand Erik can't see into a fist. "Yeah? That's life. You 
  fail sometimes, you succeed sometimes, and most of us, we only focus on the 
  failures. You gonna let Steven and them win?"

Sings-in-Shadow is silent again.

Derrick says "You gonna?"

The blanket rises and falls slightly, as though in a sigh. His reply, when it 
  comes, is listless and unconvincing. ~No.~

Derrick eyes the blanket. "You don' have to try'n make me feel better about 
  shit. You're probably gonna sit there bein' depressed about life for a long 
  time. An' despite what anyone'll tell you, includin' me, that's ok. 
  Emotions, they happen. But don't go thinkin' you can't do shit jus' cause 
  you're crippled one way, an' don' go bein' all suicidal on us. That's all I 
  have t'say, an' I'll stop buggin' you now."

Silence for a long moment. And then, ~I'm sorry.~

Derrick says, "*Do* tell. What're you sorry for this time?"

Sings-in-Shadow doesn't reply.

Derrick pokes the blanket. "Y'can jus' tell me to go away, if you want."

Sings-in-Shadow remains silent, still hiding.

Derrick looks as if he'd like to burn through the blankets with his glare. 
  "C'mon, at least tell me to go away."

There's a muffled whimper from under the blanket.

Derrick says, patiently, "Talk to me, Gomer."

Sings-in-Shadow's tone, even muffled through the blankets, is despairing. ~Go 
  away,~ he says, unconvincingly.

Derrick says, "Cool. Now all I require is a reason."

Sings-in-Shadow says, ~Tired.~

Derrick nods faintly. "Mind if I take a nap in here?"

Sings-in-Shadow doesn't seem to mind. At least, he makes no protests.

Falcon's Wing shifts to lupus, curls his nose over his tail, and falls asleep 
  remarkably quickly.

[Falcon's Wing leaves later to go bug some Kinfolk.]